


Cocktober 22: Lost AKA A Bird in the Hand

by Glitter_Bug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Has Issues, Don't follow the bird care advice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, He projects a little, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve's mostly winging it, Swearing, ish, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug
Summary: Billy finds a lost, abandoned bird. He kinda knows how it feels..."Bill?" Steve slowed his steps, mindful of Billy's own hesitant movements, "You OK?"And then Billy turned around, hands still clasped in front of him and a look of desperation on his face."I think it's lost, Steve," he whispered, and Steve stepped forward, tilting his head in confusion.Billy opened his hands just a fraction, and Steve could see something small and brown and fluffy in them.“I found it under your tree,” Billy’s voice was still hushed, as though he was worried about scaring the little chick he was cradling. Steve had never seen him so gentle, so careful. Even in their most tender moments Billy still had a roughness to him, an edge that drove Steve wild, but now he was soft and caring and worried.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 11
Kudos: 84
Collections: Cocktober Prompt Meme





	Cocktober 22: Lost AKA A Bird in the Hand

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of angst and fluff here.  
> Thrown together VERY last minute so the usual lack of spell check and proof-reading...

Steve had not had the best day at work.

In fact, it had been awful.

It had been a long day. An unexpectedly long day. An unexpectedly long day full of annoying customers with annoying questions and an annoying Keith who ate annoyingly loud snacks and made Steve do all the annoying jobs, including staying after hours to sort out a mess in the stockroom that Steve was only partially responsible for. 

So he was very much looking forward to coming home, eating something delicious and bad for him and then not moving from the couch for the rest of the night.

It was not, Steve thought, the most complicated of plans. It should have been easy to accomplish.

But instead, Steve came home to find Billy Hargrove outside his house. 

And it wasn't unusual for Steve to come home in the evening and find Billy already there. In fact it had become something of a regular occurrence since they'd begun their _arrangement_. An arrangement that started when Steve found Billy wandering- bloodied and bruised and broken- along the side of the road, and turned into Billy- sweaty and sated and safe- between Steve’s sheets. An arrangement that had grown into something more; something where Billy had a key to Steve’s house, and would make a start on dinner when Steve was running late. Something where Steve bought apple juice instead of orange, because that’s what Billy preferred, and where nights in bed sometimes just meant cuddling and chatting and falling to sleep with limbs entwined.

But it was unusual for Steve to find Billy outside. 

And it was especially unusual to find him at the edge of the woods bordering Steve's house, crouched down at the base of a tree, head hanging down and hands clasped together, almost as if in prayer.

"Bill?" Steve slowed his steps, mindful of Billy's own hesitant movements, "You OK?"

And then Billy turned around, hands still clasped in front of him and a look of desperation on his face.

"I think it's lost, Steve," he whispered, and Steve stepped forward, tilting his head in confusion. 

Billy opened his hands just a fraction, and Steve could see something small and brown and fluffy in them. 

“I found it under your tree,” Billy’s voice was still hushed, as though he was worried about scaring the little chick he was cradling. Steve had never seen him so gentle, so careful. Even in their most tender moments Billy still had a roughness to him, an edge that drove Steve wild, but now he was soft and caring and worried. 

“It’s probably a woodcock” Steve’s own tone had quietened to match Billy’s, “my mom used to see them a lot out here,” he took another look at the quivering creature nestled between Billy’s palms, noted the long beak, the yellow and brown speckles covering its body, “Yeah, that looks like one. Are you sure you should’ve picked it up?” he asked, “I thought the mom wouldn’t take it back if you did that.”

A stricken look crossed Billy’s face, "It's been alone here the whole day. I saw it this morning.”

And _that_ had Steve worried, more than the bird. Billy only ever came over that early if something really bad had happened at home, He cast an eye over Billy, focusing on his eyes, his cheek, his lips- the usual spots for injuries- but found nothing. 

If anything, that made Steve worry more. He knew that Neil Hargrove could hurt Billy just as much with his words as with his fists, and that Billy suffered even longer with that kind of pain. Steve had seen how he would draw into himself and let the insults rattle around in his brain until they were all he could hear, how it’d tear him up inside until he needed to scream, needed to rage, needed to hit and hurt and break things.

Steve had gotten good at getting in before it got too bad. Knew how to hold Billy close and whisper soft words of love and praise to drown out whatever filth Neil had poured on him, knew that Billy would fight it at first, would resist the ‘pussy shit’, would blindly hurl whatever was whirling inside his head at Steve and try to push him away, try to find his breaking point.

But Steve was stubborn, and Billy’s own breaking point always came first. Billy’s yells would turn to tears spilling from his eyes, and Steve would hold him while he cried, would shush him when he apologised and would build him right back up again.

Steve hated when Billy got like that, hated seeing Billy lose his spark, his confidence. Hated how he wasn’t able to wipe away the shame like he could with the blood, how he couldn’t wrap Billy’s fragile self-esteem in a bandage until it was healed again.

But now Billy seemed oblivious to Steve’s concern; his attention entirely focused on the bird.

“Its mom’s not...she's not gonna come back for it Steve,” he said sadly, “I’ve been checking on it every hour, it was chirping like hell earlier, that’s how I found it, but now it’s gone all quiet. I don’t wanna just leave it out here.”

“I dunno, Bill,” Steve tried, gently, “Maybe there’s a reason it’s been left?”

Billy glared up at him, eyes suddenly blazing, “What the hell do you mean?”

Steve took a step back, held up his hands, "Sometimes it happens, sometimes the mom bird leaves them. " Steve shrugged, "if they’re weak or sick or one of the weird runty ones. She knows there’s no point bothering to raise it so she...leaves it. It's just nature."

"So I should let it suffer?” Billy growled, “Just because its mom left it doesn't deserve a chance anymore? I should leave it here to starve or get fucking eaten by something, not even try to help-?” 

Billy’s voice cracked on the last word, and he ducked his head again.

And, oh.

_Oh._

Steve got it now.

Any icy clench of guilt hit his stomach as he put it all together. Billy coming over so early- no doubt after some kind of argument with Neil- needing Steve to help him. Needing Steve to help find him, help bring him back from the dark place he tended to get lost in. And instead he’d found an empty home and then a lost chick crying out for its mom.

And of course Billy would want to help it. _Of course._

But Steve had told him to leave it. Essentially told him that it deserved to be abandoned because it wasn’t good enough.

Steve could’ve kicked himself. 

He’d fucked this up already. Fucked it up _badly_. 

Had to do something to make it right before he lost Billy entirely. 

“No, no, Bill, you’re right. We should...we should help. Come on, bring it inside, lemme see what we can do.” 

Billy nodded once, firmly, and followed as Steve led the way into the house. 

Once there, Steve was all action, desperate to make up for his earlier mistake.

“We need a box, something small, cosy,” he explained to Billy- who was standing in the warmth of the kitchen, hands still cupped protectively around the woodcock chick. 

Steve had a vague idea of what to do, remembered watching Dustin’s mom trying to rescue some bird that Mews or Tews or Spews or whoever had captured, and he quickly pulled together a make-shift nest out of one of his mom’s Tupperware containers, lining it with a dishtowel.

“That should keep it warm,” he said, moving back to let Billy lower the bird into the box and then covering it over with another towel, “It’ll feel safer, anyway, like it’s back in its nest.” 

Then Steve set about putting a pan on to boil, dropping an egg in and setting the timer for seven minutes. “This should tide it over until tomorrow, then we can take it to the vet, they’ll be better at-”

Steve’s plan was cut off by Billy pulling him in for a firm hug, his suspiciously damp face pressing right into Steve’s neck, his arms wrapping Steve up tightly, as if he wanted to press Steve into him entirely. Steve let Billy hold him, let him do whatever he needed.

The buzz of the timer made them both jump, and Steve quickly got the egg cooled and chopped into tiny pieces. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit handily stashed in the kitchen, and showed Billy how to feed the egg to the bird- not that it really needed much technique, as the bird reached up eagerly to snap at the pieces the moment that Billy held the tweezers anywhere near it.

“Greedy little shit,” Billy laughed as the bird snatched the tweezers from his fingers for the fourth time, “And, ugh,” he grimaced as he retrieved the tweezers from the box, “shit is right. Hope your mom wasn’t too attached to that box.”

Steve grinned as Billy wiggled more and more scraps of egg in front of the bird’s mouth, his own mouth opening and closing in imitation, until the bird started turning its head away, no longer interested in the food.

“Think we’ve fully stuffed this little guy. Gonna be a big, fat cock in the morning. Just how you like ‘em.” Billy grinned, and Steve rolled his eyes, before coming over to peer in at the bird, now snuggled down and starting to chirp again.  
“It looks happier,” he agreed, “Sounds it too.”

Billy slipped an arm around his waist, “Thanks for helping,” he murmured, “I just couldn’t... when I heard it crying, and calling for its mom...and she didn’t come for it...I couldn’t-”

“I know,” Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Billy’s hair, “I get it. I’m sorry I didn’t at first. But you did good Billy, you saved it.”

Billy huffed, “You saved it,” he gestured at the box, at the leftover chunks of egg on the counter, 

“Nah, I only did the practical stuff,” Steve pressed more kisses into those blond curls, “You did the most important bit. You found it. You made sure nothing hurt it. You cared. That’s what saved it Billy.” 

Billy dropped his head down to rest on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve brought up a hand to run in through Billy’s hair, fingers tickling on the spots that made Billy shiver with pleasure.

“You gonna name it?” he asked, and Billy shrugged, pursing his lips as he thought. Then he let out a little bark of laughter and turned to Steve, “Yeah, I’ve got it. Gonna call if after your other chick. ”

“Huh?” Steve narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Billy smirked, 

“Your brat, the annoying one that follows you around.”

“You mean Dustin?” 

Billy laughed again, harder this time, “Yeah! It’s perfect, think about it- they’re both noisy, they’re both greedy and they’re both runty little shits.”

Steve rolled his eyes and bit down a laugh. 

“Dustin it is,” he smiled. 


End file.
